Fire in the Blood
by rianess
Summary: AU. Fawkes heals baby Harry after he is injured, and leaves him with some interesting side effects. How will this change his future?
1. Chapter One: Prologue

**Disclaimer: _I do not own anything Harry Potter related. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved._**

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**_Author Note: This new story idea has been kicking around for a while, so I decided to see where it would head. Please review constructively, I really appreciate all suggestions and comments. :)_**

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**_Summary: Fawkes heals baby Harry after he is injured, and leaves him with some interesting side effects._**

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**_Warnings: Super!Harry, please do not read if this sticks in your clack. There will not be any slash.

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**_Additional A/N: This chapter has now been edited by my superb beta-reader, Izabel Lightwood. Many thanks for your help!  
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**Fire in the Blood**

**by Rianess**

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Chapter One - Prologue

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**_Godric's Hollow, Wales_**

The jar holding the Floo powder was knocked over and spilled onto the carpet, but due to the haste in which the person who had knocked it over was throwing a handful of it into the fire, they didn't notice this fact for some time. When they did, all that would happen would be a flick of the wand a the 'purchasing of a new pot.

When the flames turned green, the person who had been frantically opening the Floo stuck their head in and shrieked for Albus Dumbledore. Said venerable wizard answered the summons with all due haste, which, considering the desperate tone of his hailer, was rather a lot of haste indeed.

"Lily? What's the matter? You look white as a sheet." He asked, worried.

"It's Harry, he's been bitten by a snake, and we think it might be Nagini." She replied, wondering how Voldemort's familiar had tracked them now, or was even looking for them, since rumours had it the snake never left his side.

"Have you called St. Mungo's?" He asked quickly, already getting up from his desk and preparing to come through the Floo.

"Yes, they're sending someone, but considering how long it's been since the bite, they say that there may be nothing they can do..."

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"I'm sorry, Mr and Mrs Potter, but this is now beyond me. We do not have sufficient time in which to make an anti-venom. All we can do is make him comfortable." The healer declared, hating himself for having to deliver this news to the child's parents.

Dumbledore looked between Lily and James, who were now staring with disbelief at their only child and clinging to each other, as if drowning. An idea formed quickly in his head, and he nodded decisively.

"Fawkes!" He called, sending his sense of urgency and his plea for aid along the link to his familiar.

In a bright flash, the bird appeared in the room and looked around curiously. When his eyes fell on the tiny figure huddled in the bed, he began singing a calming tune. Dumbledore moved closer to him and explained.

"Old friend, if there is anything you can do to help the boy...."

The bird flew over to the patient and began to examine him. After a minute or two, he began to cry tears into the wound, which slowly, started to close. Those present turned to each other and sighed with relief, and, because they did so, they did not see one pertinent fact. Along with his tears, Fawkes the fire phoenix allowed three small drops of his blood to enter the wound, before it closed. Just three. Even if they had seen it, it is doubtful whether they would understand the significance of this fact. No one would, in actuality, for quite some time.

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"My friends, I know it's hard to think about leaving your jobs, and hiding away, but clearly it's the most responsible thing to do right now. This prophecy will place you and your family in the direct line of fire. Need I remind you that your son was recently attacked at your home? Please, you must heed my advice in this instance, and have the Fidelius Charm cast on yourselves and your home."

"We have actually been considering it for some time, Albus, ever since that snake nearly killed Harry really, and we were thinking of asking Sirius to be our Secret Keeper. We know he would die, rather than betray us."

"Sirius, yes, he is a good choice James, but an obvious one, don't you think? Everyone is aware of how close you are, and he's a highly placed Auror. How about someone a little less obvious, say Peter?"

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"Stand aside girl..."

"Not Harry, please, have mercy..."

"I won't tell you again, stand aside!"

"No, please, not Harry!"

"Avada Kedavra!"

"Now, it is your turn, young Potter. A pity, you could have been great..."

"Avada Kedavra!"

"..."

"My Lord, wha- shit, I've got to get out of here!"

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"Where is 'e, Black? Where's Harry?"

"I don't know, I went to Peter's hiding place, to check on him and he was gone, so I came here, and I found J-James..."

"It's alrigh', come on, nuthin' else we can do 'ere, let's go and see Dumbledore."

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And with that, Sirius Black and Rubeus Hagrid left the ruined house at Godric's Hollow, never once noticing the baby bird, snuggled in its pile of ashes, nice and warm, under the blanket in Harry Potter's crib.

News of the death of the Potter family and the destruction of the Dark Lord would hit the wizarding world at the same time. The public were unsure of how to take such news, one led to rejoicing and one to grief. In time, the Potters would be remembered as making a noble sacrifice for the good of their world. Statues would be erected and children would be told stories of the brave heroes before bedtime.

One would think, that this would mean the story was over.

In such an instance, however, one would be wrong.


	2. Chapter Two: Ex Cinis Cineris

**_Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved._**

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**_A/N: Many thanks to everyone who has reviewed, I really appreciate it. Also, thanks to Izabel Lightwood who has kindly been editing the story. This chapter is the newly edited version. Thanks Izabel!  
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**Chapter Two - **Ex Cinis Cineris (From the Ashes)

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"You can no more win a war than you can win an earthquake."

**Jeannette Rankin (1880 - 1973)**

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The days which followed the Halloween of 1981 were a blur for nearly everyone in magical Britain. Centaurs, goblins, elves, witches and wizards – there was no one whose life was left unchanged. Many who did not know the Potters well felt that after their dutiful outpouring of grief, they were perfectly entitled to celebrate the destruction of the Dark Lord Voldemort, and who could blame them, really?

After all, it's not easy to grieve for someone you've never met, and did not know. One could appreciate the sacrifice of a whole family in order to bring peace to their world, and yes, one could also admit that _they_ would not have liked to be the ones to make such a sacrifice, but still. The war was won, peace was here and it was high time for a good old fashioned knees up!

Not _everyone_ felt that way of course. Those who _had _known Lily, James and Harry very well, were understandably devastated. No one more so, than Sirius Black.

There had been some confusion at first when it was thought that he had been the Secret Keeper to betray the family to Voldemort, and unfortunately, he had been arrested. But, questioning under a truth serum soon proved that it had been Peter Pettigrew. This was still a blow to those who were intimately involved in the whole saga; since it was someone they had all trusted who'd turned on them in the end. A manhunt was initiated to capture the erstwhile friend of the Potters and the Marauders, but sadly, the man managed to evade capture. All was not lost; however, as his animagus abilities were revealed during the questioning of his former friends, it would not be as easy for him to outrun the law forever.

Those with Dark Marks were rounded up for trial before the Wizengamot, of which, those with large bank balances tried their best to worm their way out of a prison sentence. Lord Lucius Malfoy was one such man. He plead to the court that he had been under the influence of the _Imperius _curse, and as such, could not be held accountable for his actions. This devious ploy was rather spectacularly waylaid, however, when Lord Sirius Black challenged the man to prove his claims under a truth serum.

"_I proudly, and without hesitation took Veritaserum to prove I would never betray my friends and join Voldemort. Will you do the same Malfoy?_"

It was a damned if you do, damned if you don't – caught between a rock and a hard place, catch twenty two... well, you get the picture. Lucius Malfoy could not take the serum as this would prove he was one of the most loyal Death Eaters in the business. He could not refuse to take it however, since his reluctance would fatally undermine his defense.

Needless to say, Lord Malfoy spent an awful lot more time at Chateau Azkaban than he had _ever _intended to.

Life, as they say, went on. Slowly but surely, grief was overcome, jubilation died down, and the peoples of magical Britain went back to their normal lives. As for the Potters, well, apart from a celebration/mourning day, depending on your outlook, on the date of their deaths, they were largely forgotten. For a time, at least.

But what of the baby phoenix left in the crib of Harry Potter?

It is _his _story that we are here to tell, after all.

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Fawkes knew _exactly_ what he was doing when he healed the child of the Potters that day. He had seen what was in store for the infant in the future, and he had also seen the difference he could make if he wished to.

Fawkes was immortal, of course, and being immortal, one might think that he might be inclined to watch-wait-and see, but that was not the case. He, instead, was a creature of action. He did not believe in letting life pass him by, and he also could not resist a good chance to meddle and mix things up, now and then. Such was probably the reason _why_ he and Albus Dumbledore got on so well together. The old man was a born meddler too.

Two very clear paths presented themselves to Fawkes as he gazed upon the sickly child that morning. Two threads which, if followed, would create very different futures. He could heal the child with his tears alone, that he knew. And, there was a chance that he would survive the encounter with the self-styled Lord Voldemort, without Fawkes' help. But if he did, there would be a connection between their two minds, and that could only lead to disaster for little Harry.

It was not his place to choose the fate of the world, or anything so grandiose. But he could make his own choice and live with the consequences. So, that was what he did, knowing that it would be his responsibility to prepare the youngling for the life which would await him. For that was what he did when he mixed his blood with baby Harry's, he made him, in essence, his own child.

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Fawkes knew immediately when his youngling went through his first burning. Most parents, no matter their species, will tell you they could literally sense when something serious has happened to their children. Call it what you want, instinct, or something like it, told the fire phoenix that Harry was now truly his offspring.

The news did not take long to reach his human companion, and he shared Albus' grief for those who had lost their lives. He travelled with his wizard when the man went to Godric's Hollow to see for himself what had happened to his friends and colleagues. Dumbledore was so caught up with Aurors, Ministry officials and the like, that he didn't notice that Fawkes was not with him when he left the Potter's cottage. Fawkes knew he had to wait for everyone to leave before he could act; for fear that they would notice the phoenix youngling and take it away from him. After all, it would not be _that _difficult for them to make the connection between the baby phoenix and baby Harry, given current circumstances.

There would be a time when it would be safe for his child to re-emerge into the wizarding world, but now was definitely _not _that time.

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It was some weeks and months before Fawkes and Harry were able to communicate with each other, and even then, it was only in the phoenix way. Harry may have been speaking as a baby before his first burning, but it was unlikely that he had achieved any kind of fluency. It was a problem for the future, as he would need to know how to communicate with others of his original kind.

Or maybe, Fawkes wondered to himself, it was a problem for the past. After all, their kind was not limited to a flat linear timeline... yes; he would find every resource he could to help his child prepare for what lay in store for him.

He wasn't worried that his youngling could be killed, that was now beyond him, he would burn and be reborn and the cycle would continue. But if they were to limit the destruction to the world around them, his child would need to be ready. And be ready he would, even if Fawkes had to call on every power there was to help him.

Until he was ready to begin teaching his child about the world and his place in it, Fawkes decided to enjoy this time with his youngling. Harry was very well behaved and affectionate. He usually did what he was told, but had the same mischievous spark in his eyes that his human parents and, if he was honest with himself, his phoenix parent had too. After they had left Godric's Hollow, Fawkes had installed his baby in a nest he'd made under the eaves at the top of Albus' tower. Given how distracted he had been lately, he could have risked taking Harry into his companion's office, but the nest he'd prepared was more than suitable and gave the two of them some privacy. Fawkes had never spent all day, every day sitting on his perch in Albus' office, so the esteemed wizard did not think anything out of the ordinary was going on when his phoenix was missing for parts of the day.

Due to his extremely young age, Harry was spending most of his time eating and sleeping. His phoenix papa had collected all his ashes from his crib at the Hollow, which kept him warm and protected from the elements. When he was bigger and stronger, such things would not bother him at all.

When three years had passed, Fawkes decided it was time to begin teaching his child the things he would need to know in order to pass for a human.

And, he knew _just _the person to help him, too.

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Salazar Slytherin, the man thought of as the 'evil' founder, though that appellation had not yet been applied to him, looked up from his parchment work at the roaring sound which suddenly disturbed his peace.

Perched on top of a pile of books was and old, old friend. He smiled, "Fawkes! It's been a long time. How might I assist you? Or are you just here for a visit?" He looked to the side of his visitor's legs, having seen a movement out of the corner of his eye.

"What's this? Another friend?" A happy trill confirmed his suggestion, which was followed a moment later by a quieter high pitched chirrup. Salazar smiled softly, and held his hand out to the little phoenix which emerged from behind Fawkes.

"Welcome, my young friend! And who might you be?"


	3. Chapter Three: Ex existence ut vita

**_Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved._**

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**_A/N: Many thanks for the reviews and well wishes. I am very grateful, and offer my best wishes to you all as well. With regards to the questions about time travel, hopefully this chapter will answer those questions. If it doesn't, please let me know._**

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**Chapter Three **­- Ex existence ut vita (From existence to life)

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"Throughout history, no tyrant ever rose to power except on the claim of representing 'the common good.' Napoleon 'served the common good' of France. Hitler is 'serving the common good' of Germany. Horrors which no man would dare consider for his own selfish sake are perpetrated with a clear conscience by 'altruists' who justify themselves by – the common good."

**Ayn Rand**

_The Only Path to Tomorrow, Readers Digest, January 1944, pp. 88-90_

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The early years of his apprenticeship with Salazar Slytherin were very difficult for Harry. Later in life he would look back on the time with fond memories, not remembering or choosing to dwell on the hardships, but to cherish the bonds he formed with those he met and worked with. However, that was later, and when he was actually living through that period of time in his life, the mildest term he might use to describe it, was _difficult_. Not only was he attempting to learn to speak and behave as a human, he was also trying to understand how their world worked, and to be frank, even with the whole of time spread before him, his to travel back and forth in _at will_, he found humans to be utterly baffling.

Their world was wonderful and terrible, beautiful and ugly, yet despite all this, the more he was exposed to it, the more compelling it became for him. It was the world he would have belonged to, had Fawkes not intervened. Though his situation was unique, and would be entirely foreign to so-called _normal_ human families, it was the only life the phoenix chick knew and thus, no feeling of strangeness ever impressed itself upon Harry, nor did he feel he lacked anything in affection or comfort.

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To begin with, he spent most of his time with Salazar, in the apartments the man had created for himself in the bowels of the school. Apparently, he chose the dungeons – not as some would later have us believe, because they suited his dark and evil nature, but because they were the ideal conditions for preserving his specimens and ingredients and for conducting experiments. The dungeons were quiet, spacious and mercifully almost completely empty of students. They preferred the upper levels, with the sunshine and all that went with it. When he first moved in, Salazar would have claimed the same, but, over the years, he began to feel an increasing partiality towards his peaceful dungeons, and felt grateful for the respite they awarded him from the loud, rambunctious and generally disorderly children which inhabited that great castle.

Harry's first actual meeting with the other founders came about quite by accident. He and Salazar had been meditating in a room the man had set aside for such things, (since he found a calm mind – as well as peace and quiet – was much more conducive to magical studies than an intemperate one), when Godric stumbled in, apparently wishing to recommence and argument which had actually concluded the week before. (Godric had lost).

He had been deep in his cups, lamenting over the loss of his latest ladybird. It was not recorded in such magical histories as available to the students of a thousand years later that Godric Gryffindor was a good man, yet an unrepentant womaniser; this was perhaps done on purpose. Perhaps it would be better for young people to know how human and fallible the founders had been – bringing our heroes down to the level of mere mortals is rarely appreciated and thus hardly ever done. Therefore, over the years, those writers of history edited their descriptions of these four founders and friends, to the point where they ceased to be people, and became legends. But that is a tale for another time.

During those weeks after their initial introduction, Harry and Salazar had spent much time, (with Fawkes serving as a kind of translator), trying to find the best way for the phoenix chick to assume human form. This, they had agreed, should be their first goal. Neither adult phoenix nor wizard had knowledge of a precedent to their situation. This led to their progress being made primarily by trial and error.

The three worked well together, since though each had their own motivation, they all found the work enjoyable, Salazar in particular. Though he was pleased to do his phoenix friend a favour, Slytherin was fascinated by the child-turned-phoenix, and relished the opportunity to study him. Further enticement was offered in the agreement from both birds that feathers or ashes shed by them were Salazar's to keep.

This was a great help to him, since he was at that time especially interested in developing healing and restorative potions. The regenerative powers of the phoenix allowed him to take the potions he had been researching to a completely new level, and his work later resolved in some of the most important and vital healing draughts available in Harry's birth time.

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Time was yet another fascinating concept which Harry had to learn about. Being unrestricted by linear time sounded particularly fun, on paper as it were, but did not come without its own drawbacks. Phoenixes did not exist simultaneously in every moment, being mostly corporeal, yet they could travel back and forth in the space and time of the plane which humans and most common magical creatures existed upon. Their method of travelling by fire and their burning and rebirth cycles, all took them into _another_ place. A place in which the spirit of every phoenix dwelt. Due to his siring by Fawkes and his own first burning day, brought on by Voldemort of course, a part of Harry would always dwell in that phoenix plane, and thus, he was immortal.

Phoenixes who were tired of the human plane could rest there until they were ready to re-emerge. Some never did, some stayed entirely on their own plane, others drifted endlessly on the astral plane.

This ability to travel to any moment they wished, by instinct, meant that all periods of time were available for the fledgling to see. He saw many things indeed. He marvelled over the Hanging Gardens of Babylon. He wept over the majesty and cruelty of the Pyramids at Giza, he saw art, war, creation and destruction on his travels with Fawkes.

His work with Salazar and his sire brought the human heart he still had out in him, and though a pure phoenix could keep a modicum of emotional distance, Harry found it difficult to find emotional balance, with a danger of overwhelming himself before he was ready, or old enough to shoulder the burden of his knowledge.

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As previously stated, Godric had stumbled into Salazar's meditation room as he and Harry had been working on his reverting to human form. The shock from his blundering entrance could have caused things to go either way. That is to say, the fledgling could have found it so traumatising that he would never try the transformation again, remaining as a phoenix forever or his magic would react and speed up the change.

Later, when things were decidedly calmer, Salazar and his colleagues would puzzle over the reaction of said fledgling, and would come up with this very theory – since that is what had happened.

It may have felt to those involved that hours must have passed, but in fact, it was only a matter of mere moments. Godric stumbled in, shouting something rather incoherent in his boorish way, Salazar fell awake from his trance with a curse, and Harry – well... Harry seemed to _shiver_ violently, shimmered – taking on a watery form and then with a quiet _pop_, a pre-pubescent boy appeared in place of the phoenix fledgling.

Godric's shouts had unfortunately or fortunately, depending entirely upon your own point of view, brought other onlookers – namely, Rowena Ravenclaw and Helga Hufflepuff. These two eminent ladies were aware that Salazar detested being interrupted when he was meditating, and were also very aware that the argument Godric was trying to restart was extremely childish, and frankly, they were completely sick of it. This meant that they had been on their way to the dungeons, following quickly in Godric's wake, hoping to head things off before their inebriated friend could get carried away.

It is a testament to their trust and friendship with Salazar that they did not immediately assume that there was something inappropriate going on. It is also possible that the look of utter surprise at the appearance of his _'guest'_ convinced them that he had not contrived this situation. That situation being that there was a young boy, _naked_, and curled up on the floor of his room, unconscious.

Before anyone could even exclaim over this oddity, Fawkes, who had sensed the change in his child, flashed in and began to sing, joyfully. The song of the phoenix had its usual effect, calming and soothing the frazzled nerves of those in the room, and also bringing Harry gently back into consciousness.

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In short order, the introductions were made, a house elf was dispatched to procure clothing suitable for the child, and the four founders, the phoenix and the boy, (now dressed and awake), settled down with refreshments to discuss both today's incident and Harry's personal history. This went much easier than it may have done if Salazar was not already cognizant of the most important points, as he could explain what he knew to the others.

It still took time, however, since the youngest member of the gathering did not speak the same language as the adult wizards. In spite of this difficulty, they were able to communicate with adequate coherency. Rowena in particular was fascinated with Harry's life and remarked that now he had achieved what could reasonably be considered the hardest step on his current road, he may possibly find it easier to learn his native tongue and thus in turn, wizard magic.

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In time, Harry did indeed learn both his original human language and the beginnings of wizard magic. That is not to say that there were not difficulties to be overcome, not to mention setbacks to accept and move on from. For instance, some hours after his accidental transformation into a human, Harry could not immediately return to his phoenix form, and this caused him some considerable stress and frustration.

It was what one might call a vicious circle, since his increasing agitation only really served to make it even harder to achieve that state of mind necessary for him to make the change. This then brought the unfortunate child full circle once more, since his self-perceived failure, brought yet more tension and stress.

This seemingly endless cycle was only broken when Fawkes flashed the two of them out of Salazar's living room, where the group had congregated,(the other founders still being present), and back into Slytherin's meditation room.

Harry began to calm from the moment they entered the room, mostly because his sire was with him, and protecting him – just as he always had, his love for his child flowing freely to him even when he was in his current form. Added to this was his body's remembrance of what that specific room signified. This is not an uncommon reaction, far from it. One may observe that if their bedroom is only for sleeping, and all other activities are conducted in other parts of the home, when one enters said bedroom, the body instantly begins to prepare for sleep. This can in fact improve one's sleeping pattern, not to mention the resultant ease of actually falling asleep.

All these circumstances combined served to calm Harry to such a point where he was able to find the tranquillity he needed to change at this time. With further study and experience, the change would not be such a trial, but as with any new skill, only time and diligent practice would bring the results he desired.

Once the early days turned into weeks, then months and years, and he reached the end of his apprenticeship with Salazar, (Rowena, Helga and Godric, none of whom could resist interfering), Harry would begin his next adventure. Though he did not know where it might be, first he had to deal with something back in his own time which was yet unresolved. And if there was one trait of Salazar's which impressed itself on Harry's character during those formative years, was that you do not leave personal business unfinished.


	4. Chapter Four: Coegi Per Postulo

**_Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved._**

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**_A/N: Thank you for all the reviews, I do appreciate them. Also, my thanks go to Shivani for all her help and advice with this story. If you enjoy good, quality work, masterfully written, do check out her profile on here. It's another short chapter I'm afraid, but I'm moving house at the moment so things are rather...chaotic – to say the least!_**

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**Chapter Four: Coegi Per Postulo** (Driven By Need)

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"Insanity in individuals is something rare - but in groups, parties, nations and epochs, it is the rule."

**Friedrich Nietzsche**

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Leave-taking, as many of us know to our cost, is rarely joyful and generally sorrowful. (That is of course, unless you are saying goodbye to your mother in law, in which case, many married men would recall it as one of the more cheerful moments in their lives – but that has no relevance to our story).

So it was with Harry and Salazar Slytherin, not to mention the rest of the founders, whom our young friend had become acquainted with during his long stay. It was not a parting forever, Harry could visit whenever he wished to of course. But he would not be living in Salazar's apartments, (as he had been throughout his apprenticeship), would not wake up to breakfast with the man, during which they would plan their day together.

Fawkes was everything to Harry, this was true. Mentor, friend, father and protector. But Harry's heart was boundless, thus each person he had met in his short life laid claim to some affection from him. Salazar was no exception to the rule. Though the man could be gruff and defensive at times, he had an unexpectedly charming, lopsided half-smile. It wasn't often that he did smile, but as he spent more time with his young apprentice his smiles, and by consequence his good moods, became more frequent.

Now though, it was time for Harry to move on. He must return to his own time. Much debate had erupted when he declared his resolution to return. The inevitable question of whether he should reveal himself, as Harry Potter, to those in his birth time, arose. The prospect had both advantages and disadvantages, though Fawkes, who knew his human companion and could be honest about his failings, gave the sagest advice.

Albus was a born meddler, he said, and the only outcome they could be sure of, were Harry to reveal himself, would be that Albus would try and interfere in his life. The man wouldn't be able to help himself, apparently.

It was at this time in the discussions that Fawkes also revealed something which had been troubling him for a while.

The night Voldemort attacked the Potters, the family themselves had been destroyed, however, the Dark Lord had _not_. He was still out there, though bodiless, consumed with nothing but the idea of returning himself to corporeal form. Whatever plans Tom Riddle had remained unknown, and it was unlikely they would be discovered before he acted on them. Neither was it clear if he believed Harry alive or dead. The world at large believed that their 'saviour' died with his parents.

Possible futures revealed themselves to Fawkes, most of which involved the other potential child of the prophecy – Neville Longbottom.

Depending on your point of view, you could argue that Neville's lot in life was worse than Harry's. Harry had lost his parents, yes, but gained a family with his phoenix sire. Neville's parents were still alive, but trapped in their own minds, they did not know him. Could not recognise him and so did not acknowledge him. They were essentially strangers to their son.

He lived with his father's mother, who still, even after all this time, was wracked by grief, and did not give her grandson the care he needed.

The child grew up isolated, alone, and being told stories of how wonderful his father was, how strong, how powerful, how brave. No matter what he did, the son was always found wanting, he could never quite measure up. _'Your father was faster, your father was better'_, these were the messages he was given.

To add to all this, his magic, which had actually driven itself inwards due to the trauma he experienced the night of the attack on his family, was not manifesting itself in a noticeable way. The truth of the matter was, careful nurturing would have brought it out. Neville only needed reassurance and comfort, all of which he had not received from his remaining relatives, and things would have taken their natural progression.

However, as with most things, Neville was once more compared to his father. Phrases such as, '_Frank was displaying accidental magic by two years old!', _and '_I just don't know what's wrong with the lad – maybe he's a you-know-what!'_. These and other criticisms did not serve to boost the poor child's confidence, rather the opposite. And, with magic belief and confidence is everything. Usually, if you don't believe your magic will work, it won't. And every failure leads to more depression and a stronger lack of faith in oneself. For Neville, as it had sadly been for other children, showing, or not showing in this case, magic became a vicious circle.

It was to this child that Harry would go.

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"You see my child, why he needs you? It will be some years before he is amongst other younglings, and even then, there is no guarantee that he will find what he needs with them." Fawkes, like many parents before him and many parents after him, could not help going over his child's plans with him one more time before any irrevocable action was taken.

"Yes, I see. Do not worry Father; I know this is the right path. You and the others were right. I am no longer human, and I have no idea how to play the part which would be forced on me, were I to re-enter this world as the boy Harry Potter. Yet if I do not, this boy will have the responsibility thrust on him. It is not right, but we can't change it. I must do everything I can to help. I must rid the world of the plague which infected it when that abomination split his soul. And, I must heal this little boy's heart the way you healed mine." Harry nuzzled into the warm feathers around Fawkes neck and let out a tweet when his sire gave him an affectionate nip in return.

"You are everything I could ever have wished for in a child, and more. Now, go, my son!" Fawkes flashed out of sight, but Harry had a feeling he was still nearby, watching. It was understandable, if he was, since this was the day Harry would bond with his chosen companion.

From his place in the rafters of Longbottom Hall, Harry had a clear view of his soon-to-be-companion, who was currently being scolded quite vehemently by his distinguished grandmother.

He could see the slump in the boy's shoulders, the defeat, the despair and the dejection.

It was time.

* * *

"I just don't know what to do with you anymore, Neville! Why can't you do something – anything – _right_ for once...?" Augusta Longbottom's voice trailed off, her exasperation seemingly to have grown beyond a point where she could give it voice.

Neville wondered, as he sometimes did at times like this, whether it would have been better if he'd died or ended up like his parents. He wasn't suicidal, he hadn't made any attempts to take his own life, nor had he even made any plans. It was just, what use was he really? All his family seemed to think he was a squib, and it was possible they were right.

He hadn't manifested any magic at all. Not even summoned a favourite toy, or levitated something he wanted to see, as a lot of wizarding children did. Everyone in his family had a theory about why this could be. It all went back to the night he and his parents were attacked, so they assumed.

Death Eaters had come to their home, intent on interrogating Aurors Frank and Alice Longbottom for information on the whereabouts of Lord Voldemort. They couldn't accept that their beloved master had been killed and because the Longbottoms and the Potters had always been closely allied, this generation particularly so, they decided that if anyone knew the truth – it would be them. It was irrational, and illogical, but such was the mental state of the Lestranges – the Death Eaters in question. They were mad, they were in denial and they hadn't had even a miniscule drop of mercy in them.

Neville too, had been attacked, though not to the extent of his parents. This attack was his family's leading theory on why Neville appeared to have no magic. Some might say it was tragic that both Neville and his family were unaware that a little more openness and communication could have solved the 'problem' entirely.

But they did not see. Would not see, perhaps. They were so ashamed of the possibility that their line had bred a squib, that they did not take the trouble to look further. They just muttered in hallways about how terrible it all was, and how devastating for Augusta, who had already lost her son. Of course, such discussions had been held out of earshot of the boy in question, or so they thought. But Neville had heard – every word.

And that was why, now, standing in the front hall and on the receiving end of yet _another_ of his Gran's disappointed rants, Neville had swung back to the idea that his survival the night of the attack had not been the blessing it first appeared to be. Nothing in his short life ever was, he reckoned.

* * *

Both Neville and his Gran were shocked out of their uncomfortable silence by an intense flash of flame. The brilliance of it almost burned their eyes, it was so bright. But it was over in seconds, and when the light had faded, they were treated to a truly awesome sight.

A phoenix, beautiful and proud, was sitting on young Neville's shoulder, its song filling the boy's heart like nothing ever had before.

And Neville knew, at that moment, looking into the dark avian eyes which gazed at him steadily, confidently, that he would never be alone, ever again.


	5. Chapter Five: Vicis vivo

_**Disclaimer: **_**_I do not own anything Harry Potter related. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved._**

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**____****A/N: Thank you to everyone who took the time to review, I really do appreciate it. Another short chapter though, I'm afraid. I'm finding it really hard to literally sit down and churn the words out. I could really do with a beta reader as well, so if anyone would like to volunteer, please let me know.**

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****Chapter Five –** Vicis vivo (Time to live)

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"All truths are easy to understand once they are discovered; the point is to discover them."

**Galileo Galilei**

* * *

Naturally, the arrival of a phoenix, and its apparent attachment to her grandson, prompted Augusta to send for reinforcements. Once she got over her shock, of course. One might suppose that she would call for Albus Dumbledore, Headmaster, Chief Warlock –_et cetera_. But she did not. If there was one person she blamed, aside from those who carried out the act itself, for the state of her beloved son and his wife, it was Albus Dumbledore.

_He _told them of a prophecy which could concern Neville. _He _browbeat them into naming him their Secret Keeper. _He _then dropped the charm a mere thirty six hours after the defeat of Voldemort and the death of James and Lily Potter. If the charm had still been place, if they had still been hidden, chances were, her son and daughter-in-law would not be permanently confined to St Mungo's.

Therefore, the thought of flooing the aged wizard to inform him of such an auspicious event, did not even cross her mind. Later, it might, but only so she could gloat to him that he was not so special after all, since he was now not the only wizard with a phoenix familiar.

What she _did _do, was call her brother – Algernon Croaker, Unspeakable. He would be able to test for, and confirm the existence of the bond she believed her grandson had formed with the spectacular looking phoenix on his shoulder.

* * *

While his Gran was flitting about here and there, with remarkable speed for one her age, calling relatives and all but screaming from the battlements about what had happened, Neville spent his time petting and speaking to his new friend.

Speaking was the only way Neville knew how to describe it. Thoughts, feelings – everything was shared, yet nothing was judged. Neville felt like he knew everything, could do anything and yet was happy to still be a child. For the first time he could remember in his short life, he was happy to be alive. This one thing, this event, this _being_ he now shared everything with made all the bad worthwhile, since if it hadn't happened, he might never have made it here.

* * *

Longbottom Hall was a scene of chaos that night. Lady Augusta, proud as she was, wanted this wondrous occurrence to be shared with the whole family. The fireplace in the receiving room flared with green flames over and over again, as various people walked, tumbled and on one memorable occasion, flew out.

Dinner that evening was a grand affair. The dining room, a place Neville usually found cold and intimidating because of its grandeur and bleak emptiness, was full that night. Not only full of people, but laughter and happiness - rejoicing, in fact. A yet, at the back of it, there was sadness.

Harry was slightly ashamed at the hidden relief these people held in their hearts. "_Thank Merlin, the boy's not a squib!_"

He knew the lengths they had gone to, and would have continued to go to, had he not arrived when he did. He knew, even if his companion didn't, the number of times they'd nearly killed the child. It disgusted him that they would rather Neville die, than be a squib. So what if it turned out he couldn't do magic? So what? He was alive, he survived that horrific night when his family had been attacked. Was his life not blessing enough? Was Neville not blessing enough? Clearly not, for some of them.

He could understand their point of view, on an intellectual level, but he could never identify with it, and never condone it. Culture, tradition, and a certain amount of conditioning had led these people to where they were today. But that didn't mean that they should blithely go along with everything. It took a special kind of person to question things, to look at the status quo and ask themselves if it was right.

Perhaps, they would see now, for themselves, how special the youngest of them all truly was. After all, _Neville_ was the one who was blessed to be a phoenix companion, not any of them.

* * *

Luckily for him, Neville had been able to escape his well meaning, yet overbearing relatives by claiming it was well past his bed time. Though one might think that his Gran would overlook such a matter on such a night, if one did think so, one would certainly know nothing about Augusta Longbottom. Rules were rules, and bedtimes were bedtimes, so off Neville and his new friend trotted, both inwardly pleased to get some peace and quiet.

When they reached his room, Neville was suddenly all a-flutter because he had nothing to serve as a perch for his phoenix, nor could he think of a name. Before he could work himself into a complete tizzy, feelings of calm and reassurance washed over him, coming directly from his new companion. Taking a deep breath Neville sat on his bed and smiled when his friend fluttered over to him and perched on his knees.

The bird was an impressive sight, his breast a deep, glowing crimson, which faded out to combine with a shining, golden yellow, which then paled to white at the tips of his feathers. To Neville, at the tender age of eight, his friend was the coolest, most incredible thing he'd ever seen. Most adults, even those with much more experience of the world and the wonders it offered, would agree.

The phoenix cocked his head to one side and warbled a soft song to the young boy. Neville suddenly realised how tired he was and made himself ready for bed. Harry solved the problem of a perch for himself by settling and hunkering down on the headboard of the child's bed. Neville took one look at him and smiled, feeling more safe and content than he had for a long time.

* * *

Neville opened his eyes, not knowing where he was.

This was not so unusual for one who has just woken, the mind usually needs a few moments to catch up with the body. He soon realised, however, that he was not in fact _awake_. He was dreaming, yet dreaming with a vivid clarity he'd never experienced before. It was strange, and not a little bit frightening. He didn't remain scared for long though. The song of a phoenix reached his ears a few seconds later, the song of _his _phoenix and Neville was no longer afraid.

The amazing bird flew in front of him and landed a few paces away. The bird seemed to shimmer for a moment and when the shimmering stopped, in the place of the bird, was a boy. A boy with dark hair and green eyes, who seemed about the same age as him. The boy smiled and sat on the ground. He motioned for Neville to do the same and clapped his hands with apparent delight when the boy complied.

"Well now," he spoke and his voice was gentle and full of magic, "I expect you are wondering who I am. Yes, I am the phoenix who bonded with you today. But I am also this boy as well. It's a very long story, so I ask you to do your best to listen. Can you do that, friend Neville?"

"I, ah," Neville hesitated, then decided, "Yes, I will do my best."

"Great!" The boy declared, and then shifted a bit, seemingly to make himself comfortable. "Well, the first thing you should know, is my name. I'm called Harry. My parents were James and Lily Potter," he paused for a moment, raising his eyebrows at the other boy's obvious shock and surprise. "I know, weren't expecting that, were you! It's the truth though. You see, what happened was..."

He went on to tell Neville everything. About the snake bite, about the healing. About the side-effects which became apparent the night his Mum and Dad died. About where he had gone after that and what he had done. Telling Neville everything was one of the things he had insisted on, when he, Fawkes and the founders had decided on this course of action. Harry refused to hide things from his companion. He refused to mislead him or lie to him. He would be a true friend, a confidant, a protector and that meant, in his eyes, honesty. It meant a real partnership and not some cruel parody of one, where one party decided everything for the other. Of course, he would need to do some editing, on account of Neville's young age, but only to soften the facts, not distort or dissemble them completely.

When he had finished his tale, to say Neville was astounded would be an understatement. Though even through his flabbergasted expression, Harry could see the cogs of his mind turning as he took it all in.

"So," Neville paused, "what are you doing here, with me?"

Harry smiled. "A good question. I came back to this time, because I have a task to complete. However, I have no intention of revealing myself to the world as Harry Potter. To do so would open myself up to schemes and plans I want to have no part in," his expression was steely for moment before it eased, "As for why I chose to come to you, it has to do with a prophecy. A prophecy was spoken to Albus Dumbledore, who interpreted it as predicting the means to defeat Lord Voldemort. Unfortunately for us, he also interpreted the 'hero' of it as referring to either me," he hesitated, "or you."

Neville reeled back for moment, anxiety taking hold and making it hard for him to breathe. Once more, the sound of phoenix song broke him from the grip of his rising fear and panic. Harry, in phoenix form, flew overhead a couple of times, before landing on Neville's shoulder. He tweeted a couple of times, as if asking if he was OK, though he sent no thoughts over their bond, and then started to groom his hair. Neville, who had risen, sat back down again and took deep breaths to settle himself.

When he felt that Neville was recovered, he flew off his shoulder and settled back down on the ground where he had been sitting before, and changed forms back again. "I'm sorry if I upset you. But I will not lie to you, and I won't keep things from you that I think you have a right to know." His voice mirrored his determination, and though he was afraid of what this prophecy could mean for him, the very fact that Harry was here and planned to stay made him feel better. He wouldn't have to face it on his own, Harry would help, they would do it together.

"It's alright," he told him, "I'm glad you told me. If I'd found out later –"

"Exactly, that's why I'm here. Since everyone thinks I'm dead, when Voldemort returns, they'll turn to you."

"He's going to come back then?" Neville asked fearfully.

"I'm afraid so. And Dumbledore and some others know it too. But don't worry, Neville. I will teach you everything I know, and believe me, I know a lot. Listen, I've been training for years, I was apprenticed to Salazar but learnt from the others too –"

"Really? You'll teach me?" Neville leaned forward, his face excited, his eyes shining. Harry didn't think he was a dunce, or a squib. Harry was going to teach him the things the founders had taught him. Imagine that! Magic not seen for a thousand years!

"I will." Harry replied firmly, pleased that his new friend was so eager to learn.

"How?" Was Neville's breathless question.

Harry grinned, and then did his best Rowena impression. "In your dreams, dear boy. In your dreams."

* * *

He had left Neville to fall into a natural sleep after that. His emotions had been running high during that dream and he would need some proper rest if he was going to be up and about tomorrow.

Harry spent a moment looking at the sleeping child, he seemed so innocent, so young, as he slept there. He _was_ innocent and young, and yet, had witnessed horrors no one should ever have to witness. This thought reminded him of another errand he had to perform that night, and every night until it was completed.

Flashing away from Longbottom Hall, Harry reappeared in a dark room, situated in a building in the middle of central London. His arrival had gone unnoticed, he did not trip any wards, there was no magic which could bar his entry.

He flew over and settled on another headboard, this one decidedly more uncomfortable than Neville's, and entered the dream world once more.

It took some time to locate the dreamer he was looking for, though considering whom it was and the state they were in, that was unsurprising. He finally came across the dreamer's manifestation. It was a five year old boy, hiding under a vast bed with his hands over his ears. A clearly well loved and equally well-worn teddy was tucked under one of his arms.

Harry gently drew the boys hands away from his ears, and whispered softly, "Hello, Frank."


	6. Chapter Six: Phasmatis Tripudio

**_Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved._**

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**_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has reviewed, I appreciate them all. Please do review or send me a message if you have questions or comments. I would like to emphasise that this chapter is the un-betaed version. I will substitute the chapter for the edited one when it is available. I thought you would prefer to have this now, rather than wait. If this is wrong, please do let me know and I will only post new chapters once my beta reader has finalised them. If no one objects to my current method, I'll assume you're all happy and carry on!_**

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**Chapter Six** - Phasmatis Tripudio (The Spirit Dances)

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_"But there is suffering in life, and there are defeats. No one can avoid them. But it's better to lose some of the battles in the struggles for your dreams than to be defeated without ever knowing what you're fighting for."_

**Paulo Coelho**

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Harry returned to Longbottom Hall in the early hours of Sunday morning, tired from his most recent visit with Frank and Alice Longbottom. He had been travelling between the ancestral home of the Longbottom family and St Mungo's Hospital in London every night since he had bonded with Neville. The visits were tiring, especially because they usually followed a training session with young Neville, but productive. He had also spent nights ghosting through the memories of those who had been told of Neville's new status as a Phoenix Companion. Naturally, they were proud of him, but Harry didn't think that he needed to be thrust into the public eye at such a young age, he had enough to contend with as it was. So, he had spent time in their dreams, and their minds, making sure certain facts remained 'family secrets'.

It had not been as difficult as he had initially thought it might be, because even though the Longbottom clan was extensive, most of its members were of a certain advanced age, and came from a generation which always put the family first. They did not gossip as much as some might expect them to, since they also grew up in much more dangerous times, where any advantage of the family's was safeguarded and protected from possible aggressors. Neville was the sole heir of the head of the family, he was also the only child in the entire clan, and therefore, he was protected. Some might say he was sheltered _too_ much, that he should be able to spend time with his peers. Unfortunately, those who saw to his immediate care were scarred, emotionally scarred by the last two wars and in trying to ensure his physical well-being they sacrificed his emotional well-being.

But tonight there was cause for hope.

While initially he had been sure he would be able to help his companion's parents, progress had been slow, almost imperceptible. Harry had found it disheartening. Frank and Alice's minds had regressed to childhood. It was an instinctive reaction – their minds fled in order to escape the pain. One of the many facets of the _Cruciatus_ curse which made it so abhorrent, so unforgivable, was that it prevented the body from sinking into shock. Usually when the body is faced with pain that overwhelming it shuts down, to protect the mind. Not so with this curse – the victim is kept awake, aware, and made to suffer every moment of it.

However, the mind is more resourceful than many people know, or will ever know – being unable to escape by losing consciousness, the mind flees and reverts to a place where it is separated from the pain. The frontal lobes, where all the thinking, reasoning and in some ways, where ones personality lies, shut themselves off and the limbic system takes control. The person can only feel, not think. The pain is being felt by the body, but the brain is not registering it. The same came be said for any traumatic experience, however, when the traumatic event is over, the brain is restored to normal and the victim can function again. Not so, in this case. When it comes to the trauma associated with the Cruciatus curse, the experience is so extreme, the frontal lobes may never 'reconnect' with the limbic system and the victim may end up just like Frank and Alice had.

Harry's job was to reconnect these two parts of their brains and help them process the experience. If they were in any way responsive, he would be able to do it without entering their dreams. Psychologists in the non-magical world had already discovered this way of helping their patients' process traumatic experiences. One of the most successful techniques they called EMDR – Eye Movement Desensitisation and Reprocessing. That therapy used techniques which brought the two 'sides' of the brain together, so that traumatic experiences can be 'processed'. Unfortunately for Frank and Alice, they were beyond that kind of help at this time, since those kinds of therapies require active participation from the patient.

Tonight though, he had managed to bring out the adult mind in both of them, just for a few minutes, and made them realise who they were and what had happened to them. It was the biggest hurdle they had to overcome, since their periods of lucidity would only increase from now on in. It was akin to how the first movement of an atrophied muscle is the sign that a full recovery will be possible.

Once they could retain their lucidity for an extended period in their dreams, Harry would be able to get them treatment while they were awake. And therein lay yet another problem. He was not completely convinced that the Mind Healers at St Mungo's were up to the task. Not only was most of their work done by Legilimency, that is, walking through another's memories, (and thus something Harry could already do for them), he also knew that information and research into treatment of prolonged exposure to the Crucicatus curse was limited and largely generalised. A psychologist from the non-magical world would probably be able to help – but the Statute of Secrecy would prevent help being sought from such people. Unless a squib who had trained as a psychologist, preferably one who specialised in dealing with trauma could be found, a major stumbling block could lay ahead for Frank and Alice on their road to recovery.

* * *

After he had returned and set to dozing in his usual spot on the headboard of Neville's bed, Harry went over his time with his companion so far, and, as he did so, an alarming thought sprang to mind. It was sparked by a memory, the memory of his first conversation with Neville in his dreams. What had Harry said, to him? _"I have no intention of revealing myself to the world as Harry Potter. To do so would open myself up to schemes and plans I want to have no part in..."_ Yes, that was it. And it was still true, he didn't want to get caught up in Albus Dumbledore's meddling, not to mention, what the Ministry of Magic and all those powerful pureblood families might come up with.

And yet, what was he doing with Neville but manipulating him? Setting him up to be the 'hero', just like he expected others would do to him if they knew who he was. True, he had come to Neville because he and his sire had surmised the fate which likely lay in store for him at the hands of Hogwarts' Headmaster. Still, did that fact alone make him any better? Did it separate him from those who had sought and would seek to use Neville for their own ends? Or was he just as bad?

His distress grew to a point where he really didn't know what he should do. He began to doubt everything about himself. Such was his worry and stress that Fawkes felt it, all the way from Hogwarts and travelled immediately to his son's side, wondering what had caused this crisis, and whether there was anything he could do to help.

Harry had never been so happy to see someone in his life, when Fawkes arrived. Agitated and upset, he blurted out everything to his sire, barely pausing to stop for breath, so worried was he. He poured out his problems immediately, but because his distress was so deep, his thoughts had become chaotic and thus his explanation was not very clear at all.

In that way that most parents manage, Fawkes ferreted out the underlying issue very quickly and accurately. No one really knows how, or when the skill is learnt, but practically all parents know exactly what is going on with their children, at all times. This father-son relationship was no different, a fact that brought both of them much comfort.

"I understand why you would be alarmed, and really, it is a very thorny issue. The only advice I can give you is to be honest. Open up to Neville. Yes, he is young, but he is not an imbecile. Give him the choice about whether he wants to continue his lessons. I am sure that he knows his own mind." Fawkes advised and Harry considered it.

"I know he is not stupid, I mean, he proves it every day. But is he really mature enough to understand the ramifications of all this? I mean, am I? I didn't even realise what I was doing, and how it could be taken, until now, surely -"

"Harry," Fawkes gave a calming trill, knowing that his son's sense of fair play and his moral code was playing havoc with his conscience."If you are worried about his current level of maturity, well, tell him now and give him the choice, as I said. But then, ask him again on his next birthday, and the birthday after that and so on. Make sure he knows that he can always change his mind, or not learn something if he is unhappy or uncomfortable with it." He paused, "You must understand that you are in a difficult position here. Yes, I know you chose to be, but that does not make it any less true. You can only do your best, son. Be open and honest with him, that is all you can do."

Harry sighed inwardly, but agreed. It was hard, but his sire was right. All he could do was his best. He would be up front with Neville, and he would be honest with him, he would tell him everything - making it clear he had no hidden motive. Yes, he would be deliberately keeping himself out of the public eye, and yes he was training Neville. However, he had no intention of thrusting him into the limelight, so to speak, he was just preparing him for that eventuality. Who knew? Maybe, it wouldn't happen. But Harry wasn't willing to bet the child's future on that possibility.

Forewarned is forearmed and he would make sure that Neville could defend himself, both _on_ and _off_ the battlefield.

* * *

Between them, Harry and Fawkes decided that continuing to only appear in human form in dreams would be safest for all involved. In the waking world, one never knows who is watching, after all. In the spirit of his new determination that Neville should be consulted on everything concerning him, Harry ran this by his charge to ensure it was acceptable to him. Neville readily agreed, since he had no problem with the current set up and could see no reasons to change it.

The lesson which followed this discussion focused on the Mind Arts. Though his official mentor, Salazar Slytherin had been adept in the Mind Arts, Rowena Ravenclaw had been the true genius and she had passed on practically everything she knew to Harry. She had been delighted at the aptitude he had shown during the standard instruction, and found him a pleasure to teach. She thought him truly gifted and as with most teachers, found joy in finding a student who was truly exceptional. Harry had been slowly passing on the wisdom he'd gained from her to Neville.

"OK, so you've made a brilliant start with organising your mind. Remember what I said before, though?" He prompted.

Neville rolled his eyes and smiled, but dutifully repeated, "Don't be disappointed if it takes a long time." From the tone he used, it was obvious he had said this several times before. Harry clapped his hands together and grinned, a habit he'd picked up from Helga Hufflepuff.

"Exactly right, I'm proud of you," here Neville blushed, but Harry ignored it, "you're a growing boy, with hormones and chemicals running riot in your body. I don't expect you to become a robot, with iron control over your emotions and every tiny detail of your mind, where's the fun in that?! But, it will help you with memory recall to have some organisation done. Remember as well, it's your magic that will help you here. I know some non-magicals use systems to help them remember things and such, but that's not what we're going for here, OK?"

Neville nodded, and assured his friend and teacher that he was aware of all this.

"Good," Harry paused, "Now, on a slight different note, something strange has happened since we began work. Something not altogether expected,"

"You - not knowing something? I'm shocked at you, Harry, _shocked_!"

"Oh ha, ha! Very funny. Well, really. Since we've spent so much time in your dreams, it seems to have opened something extra-sensory in you. You may end up with a touch of the Seer about you, as the wizards say. No, don't look at me light that, I'm not suggesting you'll be one of those nutty fortune teller types. But you may have prophetic dreams, or sense things about people when you meet them. This will probably happen around magicals only. I think you'll be in tune to their magical aura, or something like that. I'm sorry I can't be more specific, but I'm learning on the fly for this one." Harry paused, tapping his chin with one finger. "Maybe I could ask someone..." he murmured, looking away and frowning.

Neville took this as his cue to speak, "Don't worry, I don't mind waiting if you want to do some research. I mean, it's not like it's urgent, right?" He asked and Harry turned back to him with a smile.

"I sort of doubt it. I don't think it's at all life threatening," he laughed, "but I will take you up on that offer of research. There's someone I need to speak to about it - she will likely know more, or at least, will have some idea how to find out. Don't worry, she's completely trustworthy. Oh, and I also have some news for you on that score, should have really told you sooner, but to be honest - I forgot - oh yes, I know, no need to make another joke,"

Here Neville looked suitably disappointed that Harry would thinks so little of him that he would even dream of making a joke at Harry's expense, "Right, sure you wouldn't. Anyway, I thought it would be a good idea if we remain 'under the radar', as the non-magicals say. That is, that we don't draw unnecessary attention to ourselves. I mean, who needs to know what's our business alone? You can tell the world all about yourself if you want to, but I don't want it to happen on anyone's timetable but yours. _You _decide when and if _you_ want to announce anything about yourself and your life."

Neville wasn't entirely sure where Harry was going with this one. In fact, in some ways, it felt as if he was trying to make his argument to justify his actions even before he told Neville what it was he had done. Also, there was something else he was curious about. "I noticed you never say 'muggle', you always say 'non-magical'. Any particular reason why?" He asked tentatively.

"Oh that. Well I got that from Helga I suppose. Salazar, though he was a good man, was afraid of the non-magicals and what they would do to us, what they had in fact done to magical people when they discovered their existence. I mean, there were witch burnings and all, not that they did any good. But there were also hangings, assaults and all kinds of other things. He would call them muggles as a way of de-humanising them. By distancing himself from them and denying their humanity, it made their actions easier to stomach for him. I mean, they did some horrific stuff to magicals when they found them. To their own children, some of them, if they happened to be born to non-magical parents. And really, the non-magical world does some pretty awful stuff to this day even.

Harry paused, looking away for a moment.

"Still, that was why he did it - because he couldn't believe that people would do that to other people. Helga, was a lot more pragmatic about the whole thing. She knew that to deny the atrocities would not do any good, so she refused to use the term muggle. She also knew that there were magical people who behaved just as badly. I happen to agree with her, so although when I was younger I used to say muggles, when I was old enough to understand the whys and wherefores of it all, I consciously chose to use 'non-magical'. After all, hiding from the truth doesn't change it any."

Neville tried to take this all in. In some ways, when Harry went off on one, like he just did, Neville felt as though he wouldn't understand what was really being said until he was much older. This thought also brought up something else he had been meaning to ask. "You said 'when I was younger', how old are you - if you don't mind me asking, that is". Neville remembered his manners at the last moment.

"Of course I don't mind you asking. We're friends, you know? Companions for life, you can always ask anything you want. I might not always answer, like if I don't know the answer, but always ask - I'll never have a go at you for asking. Anyway, to answer your question, I'm twenty-one years old," Neville gasped. Harry looked about the same age as him. "I know I don't look it, but I thought if I looked my real age, you might find it intimidating. What you have to understand though, is that although I have lived the equivalent of those years, I am a phoenix. I can take this form, but I am not human anymore. I do not age. I will not grow old - do you get me?" He looked at Neville for confirmation, slightly nervous about whether the boy would be upset, and think that Harry had been holding back from him.

For Neville's part, he figured that in the grand scheme of things, this didn't really matter. He had only asked because he was curious, it really wasn't a big deal. "Don't worry about, I don't mind, it doesn't change anything for me," Harry looked relieved for a moment, and then snapped his fingers.

"Ah yes, we got diverted, I was going to tell you before, that I visited the dreams of the people who were told about our bonding. I 'persuaded' them to keep it as a family secret, after I discovered whether they told anyone outside the family. Turns out your Gran had words with everyone to make sure they didn't tell. I think she's a bit paranoid at times, but it has certainly helped us in this case. I hope you're not mad at me."

"No, not at all," Neville waved it away, "I'm kind of glad really. I wasn't looking forward to reading about myself in the _Daily Prophet_."

"That's just what I thought," Harry paused and looked around for a moment. "I think it's time you went back into natural sleep. We've been talking for a while and I don't want to wear you out!" He laughed and Neville shook his head, amused at his friend.

"Sure thing. 'Night Harry," Neville said, as he felt himself slipping away into a deep sleep, as Harry released his hold on their shared dream.

"'Night Neville. Sweet dreams!" And Neville subsided completely, with the sound of Harry's joyful laughter ringing in his ears. Really, that boy needed to learn some better jokes.


	7. Chapter Seven: Petrosus Via

**_Disclaimer: I do not own anything Harry Potter related. It all belongs to JK Rowling, Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Inc., Warner Bros., and any other entities involved._**

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**_A/N: Thank you to everyone who has taken the time to read and review this story, I do appreciate it. Please do contact me or leave a review if you have any questions/comments/criticisms. This is currently the unedited version of the chapter._**

**_I've had some questions asked about the story, but have not been able to reply with answers, so unfortunately I need to post them below. Please do feel free to skip this bit and go straight to the story._**

**_To Alex – _**I get where you're coming from, really, I do. And this is about Harry and Fawkes' fight against Voldemort. It's just moving slowly. You should see more evidence of this as a Harry/Fawkes centric story later in this chapter. Do let me know if you have any more questions/comments in the future.

**_To Rokkis_** – I know what you mean about my writing style. When I started this story, I was reading '_Persuasion_' and _'Pride and Prejudice. _I was strongly influenced by the way Jane Austen writes, and though I wouldn't dream of trying to match her, I have been subconsciously trying emulate her method. In addition to this, I am awful at writing action, try as I might, so I tend to steer clear of it.

* * *

**Chapter Seven**: Petrosus Via (A Rocky Road)

* * *

_"It is not because things are difficult that we do not dare, it is because we do not dare that things are difficult."_

**Seneca**

* * *

Time passed, as was its habit. Harry and Neville settled into a routine. Neville would attend to his studies with his Gran during the day and with Harry at night. The child had found it a novelty when, during his usual lesson on History of Magic with his Gran, where she was quizzing him on their previous week's lessons, he got every question right, with no prompting.

His Gran had been delighted and praised him for taking such care in his reading. What she did not know was he had been hearing most of the stories in those books from Harry, who in turn had seen much of it first hand, during his travels as a phoenix. Hearing it in that way gave the stories new life – life that even the best History teacher in the world cannot hope to recreate.

For his part, Harry divided his time mainly between Longbottom Hall and St Mungo's. Frank and Alice made great strides following their first meeting, and were able to maintain lucidity for ever increasing periods of time. It gave Harry hope that they would one day make a full recovery, though, he was worried that if he wasn't able to find the right therapist for them, all the work they had done together would be for naught.

He wasn't altogether sure how to proceed on this issue, either. It wasn't like he was able to research and interview possible healers himself. Aside from the identity problem, (though of course he knew he could use a glamour if he had to), he had no idea where to start. Who could he approach? Who could he trust with this, really?

The answer came by chance, as these things sometimes do, when a friend of Augusta's who had come to tea filled her in on the latest research from America. Apparently, squibs were not shunned in the same way there as they were in Britain. In fact, one of the founding families of Wizarding America sponsored several non-magical children who were born to magical parents, so that they could get an education in the non-magical world. One of them had gone to university and studied psychology. He had returned to his parents and told them of his work, and they in turn had got him in contact with one of America's up and coming mind healers.

The two of them had exchanged ideas, and set up a practice where they not only treated patients, but also did research into combining magical and non-magical techniques. They assessed each patient in turn, and tailored the therapy to the individual. Reports of their work were in the latest medical journals, one of which Augusta's friend had seen, hence the reason she was telling her about it.

Unfortunately, Augusta was sceptical. In the years since the attack on her family, she had been drawn into so-called 'miracle cures', which promised a lot and delivered little. She had been let down too many times, had her hopes built up, only to have them shattered. She did not really want to risk the potential heartache for her and Neville again.

Harry had to do some quick thinking when he heard all this. He knew, without being sure why, that this was where Neville's parents had to go, if they were to have any chance of getting better. But how to persuade his Gran?

He flew over to her and landed on her shoulder, just as she was looking at the documents her friend had left with her. As she looked at them and sighed, he began to sing. He wasn't singing anything specific, he just tried to communicate, through his song, that there was hope. That what she held in her hands, signified that there was a chance that it might work.

She had been on the verge of dismissing the research, since she had no reason to believe, not after all this time. But when Neville's phoenix perched on her shoulder and started singing, Augusta changed her mind. She had long wished to remove Frank and his wife from England, thinking that they were at risk while they stayed here.

She turned her head and looked into the dark eyes of the bird that was still singing to her. Something… yes, something told her to take this chance. That way, even if they didn't get any better she would at least have removed them from Britain.

With this decided, Augusta went to her desk to compose a letter to the clinic in America, and also to St Mungo's.

Satisfied with this result, Harry had flashed away, a smile on his face.

* * *

Frank and Alice had been moved to the clinic in America six months before, and today was the 30th July, 1991 – Neville's eleventh birthday.

Come September, Neville would be attending Hogwarts School of Witchcraft and Wizardry. Despite her misgivings on the conduct of Albus Dumbledore, and the fact that the children of many known Death Eaters would be attending with him, Augusta could not force herself to break with hundreds of years of Longbottom tradition and send her grandson to another school or keep him at home.

Given that he would soon be away at boarding school, Augusta believed that it was time Neville met some of his peers. To that end, she had invited the children of some notable neutral families. At this time, she really did not want to put herself and her Grandson on any perceivable 'side', politically, or otherwise. The only long standing alliance of the family was with the Potters. And since the last scion of the Potter family died nearly ten years ago, the Longbottoms could approach things a little cautiously, for now.

The guest list for Neville's birthday thus included Ernest Macmillan and his mother, (his father being away on business as usual), Anthony Goldstein and his parents, Morag MacDougal and her parents, Mandy Brocklehurst and her mother and finally, Blaise Zabini and his mother. It would be a small party, but a civilised one. Augusta could think of nothing better for her grandson at this time.

She was unsure what house he would be sorted into at Hogwarts. At one time, she might have hoped for Gryffindor, but now, she was not so certain. Truly, her Neville was brave when he chose to be, and he was a phoenix companion. But he was also very attentive to his books and his studies. Perhaps Ravenclaw would suit him better? And truly, Longbottoms had been in Ravenclaw before, there would be no dishonour if he were to end up there.

As such, she had put no pressure on him, as she might have done before. All she had said was that whichever house he ended up in would be fine. She thought it extremely unlikely he would end up in Slytherin, since he did not have a cunning bone in his body, so she was not worried on that score. Truly it was a mystery, but she was happy to wait for his first letter home to find out the solution.

She was roused from her ruminations by the sound of the Floo. She stood and straightened her robes; it was time for her to greet their guests.

* * *

The Dowager Lady Longbottom was not to know it, but just as she had been thinking of the Potters, Albus Dumbledore, the man she was so wary of, was sitting in his office, thinking about another little boy who should have been attending Hogwarts this autumn.

Harry Potter.

Presumed dead these ten long years – presumed, since his body was never found. There were no remains whatsoever. It was a puzzle, and though Albus liked solving puzzles, he did not like the ones which defied his reasoning. And this was a conundrum which stubbornly refused to be solved.

Albus sighed as he thought about _that _night.

What in the Nine Hells had even happened that night? What kind of magic had been used, which reduced both Harry Potter and Voldemort to nothing? No trace, no bodies, nothing!

He sighed, already fed up with this chain of thought. He had sat in this office and gone over it so many times, to the point where his thoughts became jumbled and incoherent. It wearied him. The loss of those lives, of the Potters, was so _senseless_. And try as he might, his conscience would not let him forget, or kid himself about the very real part he had to play in bringing about those deaths. It was depressing, but he could not hide from the facts.

A sudden thought occurred to him, as going over those times. There was another family he'd tried to protect, and one might say, failed. The Longbottoms. However, the difference there was that young Neville survived and he _would _be coming to Hogwarts this September, unlike Harry.

Thinking of the two boys made him think of the Prophecy spoken to him by Sybil Trelawney. Was it a true prophecy? If so, had it _already _been fulfilled, the night the Potters died? He couldn't be sure, and therein lay the problem. With that in mind, getting to know young Neville, who had been hidden from view by his overprotective grandmother all these years and who would soon be in his 'purview', so to speak, could only be considered as advantageous. Yes, he would take the boy under his wing, become his mentor.

Satisfied that he now had a plan, with clear goals to aim for, Albus fetched another lemon drop from his tin.

* * *

Fawkes watched Albus somewhat forlornly as he sat at his desk in his office, and he knew exactly what his long-time companion was thinking. He didn't even need to read his mind, it was written all over his face. As one who believed himself to be a consummate politician, Albus would be horrified to hear that anyone could read his body language and expressions so well. But really, Fawkes, who had known him so long, was probably the only one who could.

And what he saw worried him greatly. His motives were becoming less clear, the workings of his mind had turned somewhat... murky. Unfortunately, he had been unprepared for the aftermath of his defeat of Grindlewald. Albus had been a teacher who had simply done the right thing in a bad situation. He was ill equipped to deal with the accolades and the fame without it going to his head. He had suddenly believed he could do anything, be anything and that he could do no wrong.

Over the years, Fawkes had been able to bring him back from the worst of ideas that his ego put forth, but his influence was waning and he was not sure what he could do about that. Some might say that he should have abandoned Albus at the first sign that the man was deviating from the light.

But Fawkes had never been a quitter, and he would also not abandon his friends when they needed him. And Albus _did _need him. The man had spent so much time manoeuvring in the political quagmire of the Wizengamot and the International Confederation of Wizards, that all the cloak and dagger stuff was becoming a way of life with him.

He had withdrawn from everyday life, and now spent his time collecting information, formulating plans and only viewing people as tools, looking at them and assessing how they can be best deployed to further his aims. And his aims did have the best of intentions, truly, they did. But he had spent so much time akin to a spider in the centre of his web, that Albus had lost sight of just who and what it was he was fighting for.

It was his observations of Albus over the years and what he guessed his behaviour might lead to which had prompted Fawkes to take matters into his own hands. He and his son had already discussed the fact that they might need to work separately from Albus and his Order of the Phoenix many times.

With this in mind, they had gone on a fact-finding mission, to see what had really taken place on the night Harry's parents died. He had originally intended to go on his own, but Harry had insisted on coming along. He claimed that he had to see the truth of that night with his own eyes, and though Fawkes did not think anything good could come of such a thing, he was not going to order his son around and tell him he couldn't go. After all, a parent could not protect their child from everything forever, as much as they might wish they could.

Sitting on his perch in Albus office, watching him writing on some parchment and wondering what he was writing, Fawkes remembered all they had discovered on that night.

* * *

**_Godric's Hollow,Wales_**

**_The ruins of the Potter Cottage, October 10th 1989_**

Fawkes and Harry alighted onto the branch of an old tree which was situated close to the window of what had been Harry's nursery at one time. They both paused and surveyed what was left of what had been a happy home. Well, relatively happy, since the threat of attack had hung over the occupants of the house like a shroud. Though their protections had been impressive, they had still worried, and justifiably so, after all.

After a moment's contemplation, the two phoenixes flew through the cracked and dirty window and perched on the battered, old crib which was still there. They were surprised that eight years on, this crib was still here, and resolved to find out why at a later date. It was possible that some of the original wards were still in place and kept visitors away from the ruins. Alternatively, perhaps everyone believed that the place had already been emptied and so it did not occur to them to check for themselves? It was the smallest of the mysteries which they had come here to solve, so for the moment, they put it to the back of their minds.

Both spent some minutes going over the room, trying to find some residue of the magic which had been worked in the room, eight years ago. But while they could sense that something significant had happened, they could find nothing concrete.

A brief survey of the rest of the house confirmed this, so with heavy hearts, they flamed away, reappearing eight years in the past.

* * *

**_Godric's Hollow,Wales_**

**_The still smoking ruins of the Potter Cottage, October 31st 1981_**

Harry and Fawkes appeared in nearly the exact same spot, approximately one hour after the attack by Voldemort. They did not want to be seen by Sirius or Hagrid, so they had not dare to come any earlier. Also, Fawkes did not want to present Harry with a situation where he would be tempted to intervene, and save his parents. Oh, he knew that Harry could always travel to that time on his own, and Fawkes would have no way of stopping him. Still, he did not want to throw such temptation in his son's face by appearing right at that moment.

Both phoenixes could feel the difference in the room as soon as they appeared.

They could feel the _wrongness _of the magic worked here. Fawkes flew over to a smudge on the floor where he guessed Voldemort had been standing. It took a few moments, but he could sense what had happened. He could see where the magic had been and what its intent was.

The scene in this nursery an hour ago had been almost exactly as had been recorded by historians. Lily Potter had stood in front of her son's crib, ready to protect him, ultimately giving up her life to do so. Voldemort had stood in this spot and shot a killing curse at Lily. He had then done the same to Harry Potter. Lily's willing sacrifice had reflected the curse back to Voldemort, but not before it had triggered his son's first Burning Day. When the reflected curse hit Voldemort... then what? What had happened then? It might have killed him, but if it did, where was the body? He called Harry over to have a look too, since his son's participation in this event might make him sense the magic more keenly.

Harry spent some time sadly going over the details the way his sire had done, silently offering a prayer of thanks to Lily for what she had given up for him. Then he stopped thinking and just let himself _feel_. He immersed himself in the sensations of the magic around him – not an easy thing to do, since the wrongnessof it all jarred violently with the core of his being.

It was a flash of light out of the corner of his eye, and for a moment, Harry almost believed he had imagined it. The more he tried to focus on the strange phenomenon, the more indistinct it grew. Until – there! He saw it! Voldemort's corporeal form had been destroyed, but his spirit had fled – leaving a barely discernable trail in its wake.

"There, father, do you see it? Voldemort's spirit has left a trail, we can follow it and –"

"I really do not think that would be a good idea at this time, son," Fawkes interrupted Harry, who paused for a moment, before ruefully agreeing.

"Can you see it though?" he asked, sending an image of the trail as he saw it to his sire's mind.

"Ah, yes, now I do. But wait, what is _this_? It's faint, very faint, but do you see there, where it branches off? It is something akin to a fine thread of silk, but definitely attached. What can it be, I wonder?" Fawkes thought for a moment, weighing and measuring the possibilities in his mind. He had an awful feeling he knew what it might be.

_'Could it lead to an anchor? An anchor for do the Dark One's soul? It would explain why he did not die..._' He thought to himself.

Such things were horrible to contemplate, but he had heard of them before from other phoenixes who had encountered them across the ages. If it was so, then he and his son had a heavy task ahead of them. They were going to need some help.

"Harry, how would you like to visit with Salazar and the others?"


End file.
